


Desperate Measures

by RosalindHawkins



Category: NCIS, Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Relationships, Bomb, Crossover, Cutting, Depression, Eventual Relationships, FBI, Frottage, Getting Back Together, Knives, M/M, Oral Sex, Platonic Softshipping, Protectshipping, Scars, Self-Harm, Smut, Teen Angst, Tendershipping, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8189458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindHawkins/pseuds/RosalindHawkins
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures. Tears alone will never bring Ryou's father home, so Bakura tries to do so in his own, diabolical way. Threatening innocent lives, however, might not be the best way to bring Mr. Bakura home...Based on NCIS S3 E18.





	1. Cry Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Affinity](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/241699) by Dolorous Doll. 



**"Someone's turning the handle**  
**to the faucet in your eyes.**  
**They're pouring out where everyone can see.**  
**Your heart's too big for your body.**  
**It's where your feelings hide.**  
**They're pouring out where everyone can see.**  
They call you cry baby, cry baby,  
But you don't even care.  
Cry baby, Cry baby,  
So you laugh through your tears.  
Cry baby, cry baby,  
But you don't even care.  
Tears fall to the ground,  
We'll just let them drown."

**~ _Cry Baby_ by Melanie Martinez**

* * *

Ryou languished at home. His homework was done, the apartment was cold, and he was alone. He ached with bruises from the beating he'd received yesterday; usually, Bakura would take care of bullies himself, but this time, he hadn't been "paying attention."

_Come now, Yadonushi, I showed up eventually, didn't I?_

Ryou glanced up at his bookshelf, from which many books had been displaced and stacked on the floor instead to make room for Bakura's collection of souls trapped in Monster World figurines.

"You showed up, but I still don't like the way you handle those sorts of things." He sighed heavily, curling into a little ball on his couch. "Too many people have fallen unconscious already… I'm going to have to move again soon."

 _I thought you liked it here, Host?_ Bakura's tone was probing, inquisitive, distant. He didn't really care all that much if Ryou liked it here or not, because to him, every school was just like any other.

"I do, and I'm glad that I have friends here, but it's not safe for me anymore…" He trailed off as he started to cry, upset by the idea of his remaining like this for the rest of his life: a tumbleweed blown about by forces beyond his control, never allowed to settle down anywhere, always on the move, always detached from everything and everyone. He started to cry harder as he remembered his family, aching for their presence like he ached for nothing else in this life.

 _Stop crying, Yadonushi. You cry too much._ Bakura's tone was annoyed, disinterested, unconcerned, scornful.

"I can't help it," Ryou whimpered, crying harder now that he'd been reminded of Bakura's cold presence. "I want my dad to come home. I just… I just want him to come home. I don't want to be alone anymore."

_Fine! I'm sick of hearing you whine and pine for your father. He abandoned you, but you still want him home? Will you quit being such a crybaby if I can get him home for you?_

"Y-You would do that?" Ryou whispered in shocked disbelief, blinking his tears away.

_If it would get you to stop crying, then yes._

"Th-Thank you, Bakura," Ryou murmured. He never thought he'd be saying that to the spirit that periodically possessed him.

_You're welcome. Goodnight, Yadonushi. I have some work to do._

As Bakura chuckled darkly, Ryou's world went black and he lost all sense of consciousness.

The next thing he knew, he was walking to school, unable to control his limbs, something uncomfortable stuck in his ear, a heavy vest under his hoodie.

 _Bakura, what's going on?_ Ryou asked softly, terrified. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. _What have you done?_

 _I've come up with a way to ensure that your father returns home_ , Bakura snorted. _You should be grateful. I had to make preparations, acquire some materials, interact with idiots._

"When you are inside the classroom, we'll give you the signal," an accented voice said into his ear.

_That's Karim. He's our contact._

_Contact to what?_ Ryou asked in horror.

_To the terrorist cell, of course._

Ryou didn't have an answer to that, and replied to Bakura's words with stunned, terrified silence. Terrorist cell?

_Have no fear, Yadonushi. I've thought of everything. Just play along, don't fight me, and your father will be home by the end of the day._

Ryou's hands and knees started to shake as he walked into school, Bakura taking him to his homeroom. He shared homeroom with his friends. He couldn't do this to them.

 _Please, just go to a different classroom, any classroom at all, but not the one where they are,_ Ryou pleaded in his thoughts, hardly breathing as fear gripped him and numbed his mind. He probably couldn't stop Bakura even if he tried to at this point.

 _Fine, whatever. Doesn't really matter which one, anyways_.

Bakura picked a classroom and slipped in through the back with Ryou. For the next part, Ryou was perfectly aware, but he had absolutely no control. Over anything.

"Are you ready?" Karim's voice buzzed in Ryou's ear, to which Bakura assented with a faint murmur and received an order to commence with their plan.

Ryou had no control when Bakura unzipped his hoodie, revealing the bomb he was strapped to. He had no control as Bakura held the detonator in one hand and commanded that nobody was to leave the room, or they'd all be blown sky high. The rest of the school started to be evacuated once somebody looking through the windows in the doors realized what was going on and alerted an adult. He had no control as Bakura ordered for everybody to take their seat, as he shouted at the teacher who tried to enter the room, as he ordered for everyone to pass up their cellphones, deposit them on the teacher's desk, and close the window blinds before returning to their seats.

Ryou felt panic growing inside him as he watched the scene unfold, and his discomfort was visible to his hostages whenever Bakura wasn't actively controlling his features or his voice. As they waited in silence for the authorities to arrive so her could make his demands, Ryou caught sight of someone in the classroom that he recognized: Serenity. She stared at him in utter horror, like he was a monster.

Oh god, he _was_ a monster.

_Bakura, I can't do this!_

_Trust me._

_Trust you?! You've hurt me and countless other people! Why should I trust you?_

_Because how many people have I actually killed?_

_None,_ Ryou replied hesitantly. _That I know about, at least_.

 _Exactly. So trust me_.

He peeked out the blinds periodically, and when he could see that the police had arrived, Ryou made an executive decision.

_Sorry Bakura, but this is still my body, and as long as they believe I'm the one calling the shots, I should do something that they'll recognize as my behavior._

"Serenity," he called, looking at her directly and making her head snap up so that she was looking back at him. She'd been crying. Ryou started to hate himself even more. "I need you to take them a message: tell them that if my father's not here by sundown, I'm going to detonate."

It was Bakura's voice ordering her around, but it was Ryou's eyes apologizing to her as she stood, nodded, and slipped out the door to run out of the room and deliver her message. She ran into federal agents after turning the first corner, one of whom escorted her out of the building while the others moved closer to the classroom being held hostage.

"He says that if his father isn't here by sunset, he'll detonate," Serenity spluttered hysterically. Once she stepped outside the school building, she heard her brother's voice, making her breathe a sigh of relief and start to sprint towards him even as he burst past the police perimeter and run towards her at breakneck speed. She threw herself at him as he took her into his arms, relieved to the point of tears to see her again. He'd been alternating between terrified and furious ever since the state of emergency was announced. How could Ryou do this? To Joey's own sister, no less!

"Joey, something's wrong!" she cried repeatedly. "Something's wrong with Ryou!"

"I'll say," Joey growled bitterly, dragging his sister with him back to safety. "He's gone nuts! What does he think he's doing!" He was livid with anger inspired by a sense of betrayal.

"No, Joey, something's wrong!" she repeated hysterically as Joey's friend circle closed in around the two siblings in a ring of confusion and comfort. "Ryou's scared! He's confused, a-and he doesn't want to be doing this!" She looked up at all of them with an imploring look, hoping they believed her. "Something's wrong. I can see it in his eyes."

A federal agent came up then to escort her a little ways away so that they could ask her about the situation inside the room. She could tell them how many people were in the room, and who they were, and what Ryou's demands and threats were. She also insisted to them that something was terribly wrong with her friend, because he would never dream of hurting other people like this.

"Serenity's right, you guys," Tristan said, turning to look back at the school. "Ryou would never do something like this. It's got to be the Spirit of the Millennium Ring!"

"How come we can't ever seem to get rid of him?" Tea fretted anxiously.

"Serenity, can you tell me about how he held the detonator?" the traumatized teen was asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Did he hold it in a firm grip, or did he ever loosen his hold?"

"H-He did loosen his hold sometimes," Serenity said after a few moments of thought.

"Good, that means he's not holding a dead man's switch."

"What's that?"

"If he was holding a dead man's switch, that means that if he died while strapped to the bomb or let go of the detonator, it would blow up automatically. But he's not, so that's good news for us."

They let a confused Serenity go back to her friends. As she hugged Joey again, she asked him about the dead man's switch and why it was a good thing he didn't have one. The blood drained from Joey's face.

"If he doesn't have one," Joey answered quietly, starting to feel sick. "Then it means that they can kill him and save the hostages with minimal loss of life."

That statement sent shocked gasps throughout the circle, and sent Serenity into a fit of tears. As her brother started to comfort her, she cried, "But he just wants to see his dad! That's all he wants! He doesn't want to hurt anybody, he just wants to see his dad!"

Joey hushed her, cradling her head against his shoulder as Tristan started to bristle. How could they even consider doing that? He was just a sad kid who wanted his family back, even if his father was the only family he could ever get back. Something was better than nothing, and he'd had nothing for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to have a family at all—if he'd ever really known what that was like in the first place.

"I won't let them hurt him!" Tristan shouted, bursting forward and running for the school as fast as he could before anybody would stop him. He ran into the school without being stopped and managed to dart and twist his way past the other agents outside the hostage classroom. When he burst in, Ryou jumped. He was already so anxious and tense that anything shocking would be too much for his system to handle. Tristan kept moving, not stopping until he'd thrown his arms around Ryou and held him close.

"I promise that I won't let them hurt you," he muttered fiercely, eyes blazing with a protective flame.

Ryou choked on a sob as he struggled not to cry.

_See what you've done, Bakura? They were going to kill me! If they talk us out of it now, we'll end up in some kind of psychiatric prison! I won't even have my freedom there, and neither will you!_

_I'll be damned before that happens_ , Bakura growled in the back of his mind.

 _You're already damned,_ Ryou snapped back irritably.

One of the students hesitantly started to stand up, not feeling very afraid of their captor anymore.

"Sit down!" Bakura shouted, holding out the hand with the detonator. The student promptly sat down again. "Nobody's going anywhere until my father gets here!"

It broke Tristan's heart to hear his friend speak like that, but he knew even so that it wasn't really him at all. As Ryou's frightened eyes darted up to Tristan's face, his suspicions were confirmed in his own mind.

"I didn't choose this," Ryou whispered in a faint voice barely audible.

"I know you didn't. I know."

Tristan believed him. That was good. But if the worst case scenario played out, Ryou already knew what he'd do: he'd send everyone out of the building and detonate. He couldn't live with the shame and the consequences that would result from all of this if he surrendered. He couldn't survive in prison, even though he stood a better chance in a psychiatric prison. He wasn't crazy or unstable or dangerous. He just had the incredible misfortune to be possessed by the evil spirit of an ancient criminal.

_I resent that comment._

_You deserve it._

_You're_ lucky _to have me around!_

_Depends on your definition of luck._

"Ryou Bakura, we want to talk to you," a voice called from outside. "I'm FBI Special Agent Kate Todd."

"Go away!" Ryou yelled, afraid, now that Tristan was here to protect him, that they were going to try to take him out in order to put this business to an end.

"I just want to talk, Ryou," she called in a steady, calm voice from behind the nearest door.

"We can talk when you get my father here!" His voice broke, and he swallowed hard as Tristan adjusted his hold on Ryou to make it more comfortable. Most of the students had their heads down on their desks now anyways, just praying for the nightmare to be over, so Ryou didn't even worry about what they thought of him at this point—not that their opinion of him could get much lower than it already had gotten.

"I just want to ask you a few questions about your father, Ryou."

"Whatever you want to know, it's probably in some database somewhere," Bakura snapped back. "Try looking there first!"

"We have people looking there already, but there are some things we want to ask you because only you know them."

"Like what?" Ryou answered hesitantly.

 _It's probably some kind of trap to make you feel bad and surrender,_ Bakura warned. _Let me do this._

_No, Bakura! You never met my dad! Let me answer their questions. You can always stop me from surrendering anyways._

_That's true..._

"When was the last time you saw or spoke with your father, Ryou?"

"Six years ago."

"What does he do for a living?"

"He's an archaeologist. He left for a dig and never came back."

"You do realize there's a possibility that he may have died, don't you Ryou?"

The FBI agent's bluntness brought tears to his eyes, but he shook his head savagely. "No, he's alive! I know he is. He's been sending me checks for rent every month the whole time. The last one came last week, and it's his signature. It's always been his signature. I know it is." He was starting to get worked up about it, and Tristan's arms exerted a gentle pressure that forced him to slow down and focus on his breathing so that he relaxed a bit. The brunette didn't even seem to care that he was hugging a live bomb.

"Okay, calm down. This isn't an interrogation." Ryou felt like it was. "Have you tried calling him?"

"Only every week since he left," Ryou retorted bitterly, sounding more like Bakura than like himself. "I call every week and I always leave a voicemail, but he never picks up and he never calls back."

Tristan swallowed hard. Ryou never talked about his dad, so he'd just learned a lot from the brief exchange. He didn't know that Ryou had been trying so hard for so long to get in touch with him. He'd never realized just how much pain his friend was in. He felt bad for never thinking to push him harder about it in the past. He continued to hold Ryou in his arms, his firm embrace reminding the shorter teen that he wasn't alone.

The agent's next words surprised Ryou a little.

"We're going to find your dad, Ryou. Just sit tight and don't make any snap decisions. We're dedicated to getting all of you out of there _alive_."

Tristan felt like Special Agent Todd was saying that for his benefit, since he was the one who'd freaked out. He felt like his concerns were justified, though: his friend was strapped to a bomb and holding a classroom hostage because he wanted to see his dad. Whether Tristan was able to provide it or not, Ryou needed help.


	2. Marionette

**"I wanna be in your control, so unmerciful.**  
**You can twist me and turn me, just don't let me go.**  
**I wanna be your puppet on a string.**  
**Baby I'm not holding back, we can do anything.**  
**And even if I am crazy, it's cause you make me this way.**  
**We're as close to love as we'll ever get.**  
**I wanna be your marionette."**

**~ _Marionette_ by Antonia**

* * *

Seto Kaiba had planned on being late to school that day due to a conference call. He could get away with it, after all. He ran a major corporation, and it took a fair amount of effort to keep it successful. He wasn't really sure why he still bothered going to school, aside from the fact that Mokuba claimed if Seto dropped out then so would he. He was staying in school so that his little brother did, but he didn't think he could put up with another year of this nonsense.

When his limo pulled up at Domino High School late that morning, he was surprised by the amount of activity. FBI agents were swarming the grounds, the entire school was roped off, and the dweeb patrol was among the few remaining clumps of students. Something was wrong, that much was obvious. He approached the federal agents fearlessly with the calm, cool demeanor of the businessman he'd become.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, addressing the nearest agent.

"We've got an emergency situation with a suicide bomber holding a classroom of students hostage," the probie answered promptly.

"Who?"

"The target's name is Ryou Bakura, he's seventeen years old. According to the witness, he came to class with a bomb strapped to his chest. We set a perimeter outside the classroom, evacuated all nonessentials, and EOD's on site sweeping for secondaries."

"How many hostages?"

"Eight students."

"Did the witness describe the device?"

"She didn't get a great look at it, but we're fairly certain it's not a deadman switch."

"What are his demands?"

"He wants his father brought to him by sundown. It sounds easy enough, but we can't seem to track him down."

"I could do it," Kaiba replied immediately, the FBI agent giving him a suspicious look. "I'm the best when it comes to computers. If you don't want my help, that's fine, but if I were you, I would do the best I would use the best resources I could get my hands on." He started to walk away, but was stopped when the agent called his name, making him smirk.

"Wait, Mr. Kaiba!" The brunette turned to face the agent with a smug expression. "We'd appreciate the help very much."

That was how Seto came to be set up with one of their computers, fingers flying across the keyboard as he effortlessly hacked into various databases and accessed all sorts of records in search of his classmate's father. The agents had seemed hesitant to include him, but once they realized that he was remarkably intelligent, had skills equal if not superior to their computer analysts, and was efficient and precise, they seemed to get used to him.

In truth, Kaiba was just a little curious, and since he had the time to help them, he would. He figured it'd be good for his reputation as well as a good exercise of his computer skills. Once they recovered Ryou's laptop from his house, another techie was investigating his hard-drive.

"What'dya got, McGee?" the agent in charge asked before taking a swig of coffee.

"He visited a lot of morbid websites about death and the afterlife. He certainly seems mentally disturbed—I mean, nobody _sane_ keeps that many knives around their house—but he didn't access any bomb-making websites," McGee answered. Kaiba, who sat across from him, was paying more attention to the situation than either of them might think.

"The bomb-sniffing dogs didn't react to anything at his house, and Abby didn't find any traces of explosives among his things," the head agent commented, referencing their forensic scientist who was currently looking for any helpful clues among the teenagers possessions back at her lab.

"That means one of two things," Kaiba interjected without even looking up from his screen. "Either the bomb was built somewhere other than his apartment, or it's a fake." He glanced up briefly to see their reactions, then resumed his work. He'd lost Mr. Bakura's trail and had moved on to conduct some self-assigned hacking. For the sake of the case, of course.

"Do you think it could be fake?" McGee asked his superior, looking a tiny bit hopeful.

"We won't know for sure until we get eyes inside the classroom," the senior field agent replied. "The shots we've gotten of him at the window just don't show us enough for us to determine that."

"Have you tried to establish communication with any of the hostages?" Kaiba asked, butting in again.

"No, our witness said that he made them all put their cellphones on the teacher's desk," McGee answered, his face starting to light up with realization. "However, one of his friends ran in not long after the witness came out. He might still have his cell on him." He looked up at his boss with a grin, but he seemed unimpressed.

"What are you waiting for, McGee? Go get his number from one of his friends."

"Right away." McGee rushed out of his seat and went towards the geek squad, who were still waiting at the edge of the perimeter, refusing to leave out of concern for their friend.

"I think I can solve your problem," Kaiba said after a moment. The senior field agent gave him a strange look for a moment.

"Who are you?"

"Seto Kaiba, CEO of KaibaCorp. You?"

"Special Agent DiNozzo, FBI. I'm in charge of this operation."

"I'm almost done hacking into one of the computers in the classroom," Kaiba informed him, looking quite satisfied with himself. "Soon, we'll be able to see and hear everything that's going on in there."

"Nice work, kid," DiNozzo praised, making Kaiba look up at him sharply.

"I'm not a kid," he snapped, turning his attention back to the computer. _Idiot_.

* * *

Ryou was pacing the classroom anxiously as Tristan sat on the edge of the teacher's desk. He was acting paranoid—not shocking, considering their situation—and periodically he'd go to the windows and peek through the blinds. The hostages were silent, but Tristan was still trying to talk him out of this. Even if it _was_ Bakura in control right now, as he suspected, he still hoped to get through to one or both of them.

"We can still make this right, Ryou," he ventured, breaking the tense silence.

"It's too late for that now." The words were harsh and sad at the same time. He glanced back at Tristan with those big brown eyes, looking hollow and hopeless.

"We can fix this—"

"Nobody can fix this!" he shouted, interrupting his friend. "Happy endings don't happen in real life, Tristan."

Tristan could hear the words he didn't say: _"Happy endings don't happen for me."_ It was true that his life had been far from perfect, but it was nowhere near its end, not if Tristan had anything to say about it. There was still plenty of time for things to get better if he could just be patient enough to wait for them. Ryou turned around again and went back to the window, peeking between the closed blinds nervously.

"Target has been acquired, sir. I'm only waiting for your orders," the sniper on the opposite rooftop said into his earpiece, DiNozzo listening from the FBI's temporary command center inside the school. He had his sights on Ryou, who lingered at the window. DiNozzo watched the video feed Kaiba had pulled up on one of their computers.

"The shot's not clear," DiNozzo replied, seeing that Tristan was behind Ryou, and though he was at a distance, he didn't want to take that risk.

"Actually, with the angle he has, there's no chance of the bullet hitting anyone else," Kaiba pointed out in his usual cool, confident demeanor. "The shot _is_ clear."

"All sniper units stand down," DiNozzo ordered suddenly, and the movement of the snipers putting their rifles away drew Ryou's eye. He didn't get a good look at who they were or what they had, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what they were there to do. He stepped back from the window as his heart-rate jacked up. He'd almost died. Standing there by the window, just a few seconds ago, he could have been killed. The weight of the bomb he wore was a constant reminder of how close to death he was at the moment, but that was different. He had control over the bomb, and it would be _his_ decision to detonate when he did. If he did. The situation looked bleaker to the boy by the second, and he was starting to wonder if he shouldn't just send everyone away and blow himself up now. He didn't have the nerve to follow through with this.

 _You wound me with your doubt,_ Bakura said scornfully in the back of his mind as Ryou remained frozen in front of the window, his hand no longer on the blinds. _I've thought of everything, and unless Marik screws up on his end, we'll get away with this and the authorities won't so much as reprimand you._

 _Marik? What does_ he _have to do with any of this?_ Ryou demanded, confused. He vaguely remembered the Egyptian from the Battle City Tournament, but he also remembered that once he'd conquered his evil half, he'd cut all ties with the Spirit of the Millennium Ring.

_I'd tell you, but you're a terrible actor, unlike myself. You can't know the truth, or you'd give us away._

_What are you talking about?_ Ryou whined in his mind, confused and distressed by Bakura's "plan." Bakura appeared in spirit-form beside him, leaning his back against the window blinds and crossing his arms as he shot a sidelong glare at his host.

"Yadonushi, if you don't stop asking questions, I'll seal you into my soul room and take over completely."

Ryou nodded, too scared of Bakura's soul room to desire such an arrangement, and Bakura rolled his eyes.

"Stop it. Your hostages will wonder why you're nodding like that, and we can only get away with this if you don't make them certain that you suffer from schizophrenia or a dissociative personality disorder."

Ryou's pale face turned red with embarrassment as the Spirit mentioned the very conditions he'd once feared he had-thanks to the Spirit of the Ring, of course. He would have prefered that something be wrong with him instead of being possessed. Bakura smirked at him.

"I don't know about you, but I'd prefer to stay out of an institution for the criminally insane. I prefer my freedom. Now that I think about it, though," he continued, his voice deceptively gentle. It was the voice he always used when he was about to say something especially cruel. "You'd probably like it there. Lots of people to make friends with, room and board provided for you, no rent to pay, no homework to complete, and free drugs on top of that."

Ryou shuddered, sickened at the thought. He was already terrified of ending up in a mental hospital or a prison, and the idea of ending up in a place that was both a mental hospital _and_ a prison made him feel sick and weak-kneed. Bakura chuckled, amused by his host's many fears.

"Your friend just sent a text message," Bakura said calmly, making Ryou stiffen. He should have remembered to ask Tristan to give up his cellphone as well. Bakura saw those thoughts, though, and ordered otherwise: "Turn and ask him if he just did something. He'll deny it, of course, but don't push the issue. Let him keep his phone."

_But why?_

"It's all part of the plan."

* * *

"That might have been our only chance. Why didn't you take the shot?" Cate asked Tony as Kaiba frowned at the computer monitor in front of him.

"He's not a target, he's a scared kid who wants to see his dad," he replied, a fierce look in his eye. He couldn't bring himself to kill a kid who was barely over sixteen. They hadn't yet exhausted all of their options, and unless he knew for sure it was the only way to save the hostages, he refused to give that order.

"Do you have Taylor's number?" he asked Cate, who nodded.

"McGee gave it to me before he went back to the lab to help Abby."

"Establish communication with him. Let him know that we're here and that we can see what's going on," DiNozzo ordered, and Agent Todd started to text the teenager immediately. As Kaiba was waiting for hits on Mr. Bakura's passport, DiNozzo called Abby and McGee back at the lab to see if they'd found anything useful while processing the troubled teen's belongings.

"You should see this," Kaiba said suddenly, beckoning Agent Todd over to the computer monitor.

"What happened?" she asked as she stood behind him.

"Bakura somehow knew that Taylor texted someone without even seeing him do it." Kaiba replayed that piece if the video so that she could see it for herself. Tristan hadn't made a sound when he texted back his reply and slid his phone back into his pocket, and a few moments after doing so, Bakura had turned around and sharply questioned his friend.

"There's no way he could possibly have known that," Kate said, seeing no solution to this mystery.

"Obviously there is, because he did," Kaiba corrected. He would have agreed with her if the facts hadn't been against her. "Either he saw it himself or someone alerted it to him somehow. He didn't see it himself, so someone or something must have tipped him off."

"There aren't any reflective surfaces in the room," she observed, watching the clip again as the live feed continued playing on Tony's computer. After a moment's thought, something occurred to Kaiba, and he minimized the video as he started going back through the coding he'd used to hack into the computer's camera and microphone.

"What are you doing?"

"The first PC I tried to hack was blocked for some reason," he said as his fingers tapped across the keyboard furiously. "I thought that maybe… Ah, I was right. Someone else hacked it first. I'll back-trace the feed and figure out where it's coming from."

"What's going on over here?" DiNozzo asked as he approached the two of them after hanging up his phone.

"I can't figure out what he's getting at," Cate said with a look of irritation.

"I think he's being manipulated," Kaiba said simply, still working on tracking the other hackers. "If someone else has eyes and ears in the classroom, they may be feeding him orders through an earwig. It makes sense. We already established that there's no way he could have possibly made that bomb himself, so someone else must have assembled it. There's no way he could have seen Tristan texting you, and if he had seen it himself, why would he have waited three seconds to say something about it? It's the only logical conclusion."

"There's no way that Taylor would be able to see an earwig under all that hair," Cate commented.

"Earwigs are short-range and only operate on a handful of frequencies," Tony said, turning away as he spoke. "I'll start scanning for any nearby signals not in use by one of our people."

"I'll text the kid and let him know what's going on," Cate said as she pulled out her phone to complete the task.

"If he's being controlled by someone else," Kaiba said suddenly. "Then they're probably the ones in control of the bomb." Cate and Tony exchanged a glance. This was a whole new ball-game.

* * *

_**One week ago...** _

"Hello, Marik," Bakura purred into his host's cellphone. "Long time, no see." He heard a heavy sigh on the other end.

"I already told you, Bakura, I want nothing to do with any of your schemes." Marik sounded annoyed; he was sick of having this conversation with the Spirit of the Millennium Ring.

"I think you'll want in on this one, Marik."

"Why, what diabolical crime are you committing _this_ time?" He sounded entirely unconvinced that he would want any part of this.

"I'm doing something _good_ this time, you pansy," Bakura growled. "And for my host, no less. You told me treat him better, didn't you? So how about you give me a hand?" Silence followed his words, which irritated Bakura even more.

"What _are_ you doing for him?" Marik asked hesitantly, sure that teaming up with Bakura would get him into trouble no matter what, but at the same time, he sincerely hoped that Bakura _was_ doing something kind for his host. He could afford to at least listen to his plan.

"I'm bringing his father back home, but I need your help. Are you still in touch with your Rare Hunters?"

"Maybe," Marik answered obscurely. "Why do you ask?"

"Because we need a scapegoat," Bakura answered, his tone casual and matter-of-fact. "Are you in or not?" Another few moments of silence, during which Marik considered his options.

"Alright, I'm in," he answered with a sigh of defeat. "But you have to promise me that nobody will get hurt."

"I promise," Bakura swore, grinning rather fearsomely. "Cross my heart."


	3. I Hate U

**"** **Betrayed me  
** **Played me  
** **Slayed me  
** **Hurt me like I've never been hurt before  
** **Disowned me  
** **Only  
** **For the  
** **Other people you decided that you wanted in your life more."**

**~ _I Hate U_ by Simon Curtis**

* * *

_**Six days ago…** _

"I'm glad you could make it," Bakura said with a grin as he opened the door and let Marik enter the apartment.

"You paid for the tickets, so I figured I didn't have anything to lose but a little time," Marik retorted as he stepped inside and entered the main living area, trying to maintain the appearance of proud reluctance as he sat on the couch with his arms crossed, his backpack on the cushion beside him to keep Bakura from occupying that space. "And for your information, I _am_ in touch with some of my Rare Hunters. There are still some in Domino who'd be willing to do me a favor." There were others across the nations that would do his bidding as well, but Bakura didn't need to know about those ones.

"Good, because as I said, we'll need a scapegoat for this to be successful." Bakura locked the front door and sat in the armchair, crossing his legs as he turned his body to face his old friend. "So be sure to pick one that you won't miss. He can't be a complete idiot, though. He needs to be smart enough to know his way around computers but gullible enough that he thinks he won't get caught."

"It'd help if you told me what your plan _is_ exactly." Marik glared at the Spirit of the Millennium Ring with a sour expression. He didn't like being kept in the dark.

"Yadonushi's tried every conventional means of communicating with his father, all to no avail. That leaves the unconventional methods for me to try."

"Get to the point," Marik snapped impatiently. He couldn't hide the discomfort he felt from being alone with Bakura.

"We're going to build a bomb and—"

"No!" Marik stood up immediately with the intention of leaving. "You promised nobody would get hurt!"

"Wait, you don't even know the rest of the plan!" Bakura protested, rushing after the Egyptian teen who marched over to the exit. Marik tried to open the front door, but Bakura slammed the door shut with one fist on the edge of the door above the other's head. Marik turned on him, angry that his departure was being impeded, but found himself pinned against the door as Bakura also pressed his other hand to the surface behind Marik and inched closer to him.

"Hear me out, Marik. I _promised_ not to hurt anybody, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, but you're not exactly the most trustworthy person I know," Marik conceded, trying to keep himself from blushing as Bakura leaned forward with half-lidded eyes and a playful smirk.

"You came all this way, though, so deep down somewhere, you must believe in me." Bakura dropped one hand from the door and slowly traced one finger up the length of Marik's arm, starting at his wrist and slowly ascending to his shoulder. "You've been working out," he noted appreciatively when his finger traced over Marik's bicep, finally eliciting a coral blush from his friend.

"Knock it off, Bakura," Marik muttered, his eyes averted as his hands formed fists at his sides. He didn't need this right now. He should just shove Bakura away and leave. Except—

Marik really _did_ want Ryou's father to come home, for the boy's own sake. Out of the three hikaris, Ryou had the worst deal. He was miserable, and that fact wouldn't change until Bakura left him for good. If Ryou's father were to return, however, surely his misery would be at least partially assuaged?

Just as Marik was about to push the white-haired thief away, Bakura leaned back of his own accord, crossing his arms as he smirked with satisfaction.

"Perhaps you'll let me finish telling you my plan before you jump to anymore conclusions?"

"Fine," Marik muttered, pushing past him to enter the kitchen. As he started checking the cabinets, he muttered, "Do you have any coffee? You're so boring I can barely keep my eyes open." The jet-lag from Egypt to Japan was something awful.

"My host only drinks tea," Bakura answered as he sat at the kitchen counter and watched every move his Egyptian friend made. "The plan, in its simplest form, is that we build a bomb, strap it to my host's chest, have him take a classroom hostage, and make him demand for his father to be brought to him or else he'll blow them all sky high. So, what do you think?"

Marik glared fiercely at the spirit as he lit the burner beneath the full tea kettle. "That's a terrible plan, if that's all you plan on doing. Have you even _considered_ the consequences?"

"I _have_ , which is why I said that's not the _whole_ plan." Bakura glared back at him with equal annoyance. "For one thing, Ryou's detonator will be fake. The real detonator will be with your Rare Hunter in a sketchy building not too far from the school, but it'll be disconnected so that not even _he_ can set it off. Does _that_ satisfy your need for safety?" he asked harshly, and Marik only nodded in response, more curious about Bakura's plan than he'd like to admit. "The Rare Hunter will need be watching a live feed of what's going on inside the classroom, so he'll have to have a laptop with him so he can hack one of the webcams."

"Why are there webcams inside a classroom?" Marik interrupted, looking confused.

"They put computers in some of the classrooms for educational use or something," Bakura muttered with an indifferent wave of his hand, obviously apathetic about the administrative practices of the public school system. "The Rare Hunter will be playing the part of a terrorist, and he'll relay a few instructions to my host every now and then. We'll give him a script or something so that he knows what to say."

"How will Ryou hear him?" Marik interrupted again, and Bakura rolled his eyes.

"He'll have an earwig, which I was about to say if you hadn't cut me off." Marik glared at Bakura as the thief cleared his throat to continue. "We'll have to find a way to make it look like Ryou was contacted and manipulated by terrorists."

"Why would terrorists want Ryou to get his father back?"

Bakura sighed dramatically as Marik smirked at how aggravated the spirit was. "That's something we'll have to find out. The man spent plenty of time in the Middle and Near East doing his archaeological work, so he's bound to have offended _some_ kind of violent, fundamentalist sect with his desecration."

"Didn't _you_ used to desecrate tombs, though?" the Egyptian asked with false innocence in his lavender eyes.

Bakura brought down both fists on the kitchen counter as his face turned red with anger. "I wasn't saying that his actions were considered desecration by _me_ , simply that someone would be violent enough and insulted enough by his actions to wish him dead and attempt killing him by having his son blow them both up together."

Marik considered his words, looking thoughtful as Bakura made an effort to restore himself to a state of calm self-assurance. "Huh, that actually sounds fairly plausible," he muttered, a bit impressed with Bakura's plan. "How long did it take you to come up with all that?"

"Just a couple hours." The thief smoothed down his stubbornly spiky hair, looking proud of himself. As the tea kettle started to whistle, Marik turned the stove off and went to the cupboard to find himself a mug.

"Better put that in a thermos. We need to get going so that we can start hacking."

"Where are we going?" he asked as he removed a thermos from the cupboard and added a teabag to it before pouring the hot water.

"We can't have any of this traced back to us," Bakura said from the far side of the room where he was burdening himself with a pair of laptop bags. "You haven't checked into a hotel yet, have you?"

"No, I didn't think I'd actually be sticking around long enough to need one," Marik replied disdainfully as he sealed his thermos of black tea and took his backpack off the couch.

Bakura grunted in disbelief at that. "Good, because we're staking out in a motel."

"Why would we do _that?_ " Marik demanded, crossing his arms in indignation.

"Like I said," Bakura answered impatiently, "We can't have any of this tied back to us _or_ my host, so we're going to use untraceable laptops in an untraceable motel room. That way, even if the police _do_ figure out that we hacked the terrorists' email account and the location from which it was hacked, they'll have no idea who did it."

"You've been watching crime shows, haven't you?" Marik asked suspiciously as Bakura led them out the front door.

"Correction: _Yadonushi_ has been watching crime shows."

"I'll bet you cheer for the criminals."

"The serial killers tend to be my favorite characters."

Marik snorted derisively. "They _would_ be."

* * *

_**Five days ago…** _

"When do you plan on contacting that Rare Hunter?" Bakura demanded as he typed furiously on his laptop, slouching in his chair as he hacked into an Email server in Egypt.

"In a couple days," Marik answered lazily, rolling onto his back and staring at an upside-down Bakura as he lay sideway across the bed, his head hanging off one side as his feet dangled off the other. "I already drafted the email and did everything else you told me to do."

"Are you sure you did enough snooping around on Ryou's laptop?" the thief demanded, looking irritated by his partner's inactivity. Marik wasn't nearly as adept with computers as Bakura was, which made more of the process rest on Bakura's shoulders than the thief would have liked.

"Yeah, he does enough research on depression and suicide on his own that I really didn't need to add much," his partner replied quietly. The Egyptian watched the Brit with sad eyes.

"What are you making that face for?" Bakura growled when he finally noticed it.

"You really should take better care of him, Bakura."

The thief grunted noncommittally, much to Marik's irritation.

"I'm serious. You're not always going to be around to keep him from killing himself. If he commits suicide after you're gone, it'll be all your fault."

"You assume that I'll be leaving him one day, that I won't be victorious over the Pharaoh, and that I won't banish Yadonushi's soul to the Shadow Realm before that battle comes. Who knows, one of these days I might just get so sick of him that I'll send him to hell like he keeps trying to do to himself."

"You're not going to do that."

Bakura glared at his fair-haired companion. "What makes you so sure that I won't?"

"Because your souls are tied together somehow," Marik answered, a little unsure of how to articulate the connection between Ryou and Bakura that he'd felt when he still wielded the Millennium Rod.

"Yes: I'm the parasite and he's my host. I told you that back in Battle City."

"It's more than that," Marik insisted, shaking his head in disagreement. "You feel something for him, you know you do. Why else would you be working so hard to bring his father home for him?"

"Maybe I just like to get him all worked up only to dash his hopes," Bakura remarked callously as Marik rolled onto his stomach and slunk off of the bed.

"You don't have to work this hard to do that, though," Marik pointed out. His voice was closer, and Bakura looked up from the computer screen to see Marik leaning over him, one bronze hand braced on the back of his chair. Bakura smirked. "What's the real reason you're doing this, Bakura?"

"I'm sick of his infernal weeping," Bakura answered scornfully, the smirk slipping from his face. "Honestly, he cries more than a hormonal woman."

"I'll bet he's not the only one," Marik answered softly, dropping his free hand to cup Bakura's cheek. The thief froze, his piercing gaze directed at Marik as he tried to figure out his endgame.

"I don't cry."

"Not in this lifetime, perhaps," Marik murmured thoughtfully, brushing the pad of his thumb across the other's cheekbone. "But Ryou's not the only one to lose his family."

Bakura scowled fiercely as he muttered, "At least _I_ didn't kill _my_ parents." Marik gasped sharply, deeply wounded by the comment. He lifted his hand and smacked Bakura as hard as he could, leaving the other teen's cheek bright red as he turned and stomped away with a look of utter fury.

"My mother died of natural causes," he growled at last.

"Yes, she died while giving birth to _you_."

" _This_ is why we broke up, Bakura!" Marik burst out, rounding on him as red-hot anger flooded his mind. " _This_ is why it would be a mistake for us to get back together!"

"I don't _want_ to get back together!" Bakura shouted back defensively.

"Then why is there lube in your laptop bag?" Marik demanded at equal volume.

"Because, Marik, _I_ just want to fuck you!"

"Do you really think I'm that _easy_?"

"You were _last_ time!"

"You're such a slut!"

"It takes one to know one!"

"Shut up!" Marik screamed, clutching his head as he suddenly dropped to his knees. "Shut the _fuck_ up, Bakura!"

The pure agony that distorted Marik's features made the spirit fall silent. He knew that expression, knew what it meant. He set his laptop down on the ottoman and crept out of his chair. His footsteps were as silent as death as he approached Marik and knelt beside him. He put an arm around his shoulders, which was enough encouragement for Marik to cling tightly to him with no intention of letting go.

For all of his posturing and his terrible behavior, Bakura did truly care for Marik. That was why he tried so desperately hard not to be too kind to him. _That_ was what had driven the two of them apart last time.

"Don't push me like that." Marik's words were harsh and spoken with much difficulty as he worked past the throbbing pain in his head as his other self threatened to return. It was a plea as well, though. Marik feared his other self as much as Bakura did.

"I won't," Bakura whispered in return, his eyes closed as they continued to embrace in the quietude of their room. No apologies, no promises, just the faint gasp of Marik's ragged breathing.

* * *

_**The previous day…** _

"So let me just make sure that I have this straight," Marik said, draining the last of his tea before continuing. "We're framing the Rare Hunter to look like a terrorist from an extremist cult that was insulted by Mr. Bakura's archaeological expedition. The terrorists manipulated Ryou after finding him on a forum filled with other suicidal teens. They get him to tell them about his dad, and they convince him that this is the best way to get his father to come home."

"And that's the conversation you and I posted on the forum yesterday," Bakura interjected, pushing back Marik's bangs so that they no longer flopped in front of his eyes.

"And you'll be dropping just enough hints that they'll be able to tell that Ryou's not completely in control of the situation, and when they figure it out, they'll trace the computer hacking and the earwig signal back to where the Rare Hunter is hiding out. He'll get arrested and—Wait, why won't he rat us out again?"

"Because I can erase and alter his memories with the Millennium Ring," Bakura reminded him, tracing the outline of Marik's lips as he leaned back against the counter so that he could face the Egyptian.

The eyelids belonging to those lilac eyes drooped as he blushed and his expression softened.

He let Bakura press a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth as the thief murmured, "And because we covered all of our tracks, neither of us nor Ryou will get into any trouble. Sure, they'll see that he's a bit disturbed, but I figured you'd like that part, since you care so much about his wellbeing, because it means that he'll get help."

"Bakura?" The slightly taller teen had difficulty breathing as the other's lips ghosted across his own.

"Hm?"

"You're sure this will actually bring Ryou's father home?"

"I'm certain."

"Even if they stop him?"

"Especially if they stop him," Bakura assured. "Because they'll see how much he needs his father to come home. Besides, once his father's returned to the country, there's always the option of prosecuting him for neglect."'

"They won't do that, though, right?" Marik looked genuinely concerned, but Bakura just shrugged.

"It's not up to me at that point." He carded his fingers through the other's platinum blond hair in a way that seemed to reassure him, and Bakura smirked. "I know I could get you to come back to Domino."

Marik frowned and kicked his partner in the shin.

"I mean, thank you for coming back," Bakura muttered, and it was Marik's turn to smirk.

"Much better."


	4. In The Arms Of An Angel

**"There's always some reason to feel not good enough,**  
**and it's hard at the end of the day.**  
**I need some distraction or a beautiful release.**  
**Memories seep from my veins.**  
**Let me be empty**  
**oh and weightless and maybe**  
**I'll find some peace tonight."**

**~ _In The Arms Of An Angel_ by Sarah McLachlan**

* * *

"Ryou, we have your father."

The white-haired teen felt weak-kneed with relief when he heard the voice of the federal agent outside the classroom door. Fear quickly followed the relief, though, and he wouldn't have managed to cross the room to the door and ask for confirmation if Bakura hadn't helped him along.

"He's really here?"

"Yes, Ryou. We'll send him in after you've let the others out."

Ryou looked up at his hostages, who all looked back at him with guarded expressions. He hadn't known these people at all before today, but surely they hated him now. He nodded and they all scrambled out of the classroom. The only person who stayed with Ryou was Tristan, who offered him a reassuring smile as the authorities announced themselves and entered the classroom. Someone rushed over to Ryou and immediately began disarming the bomb while the student craned his neck to look past the man and try to spot his father. Was he really here? His heart began to sink to his shoes as he realized that his father was nowhere in sight. As more agents entered the room, he stiffened, shaking with terror as he felt that he'd surely been tricked. They were going to take him away now. He would never again see his friends, never again see the light of day—

"Ryou, we know that none of this was your fault," was the first thing he heard, and as the bomb vest was removed from his body, he suffered an emotional meltdown. It had been inevitable, and even though Bakura knew that, he couldn't help but watch his weeping host with disdain. As they started to comfort and question the distraught teenager, Ryou's mouth opened and spilled the lies Bakura fed him. He could hardly even recall or understand what he was telling them, but whatever he said must have been consistent with whatever they knew, and they treated him more kindly than he thought he deserved.

At first, he wasn't able to answer many questions at all because he cried so hard, but after letting Tristan hold him for a while, he finally began to calm down. Once Ryou ceased crying, he became rather numb, his expression blank and his voice quiet as he told them everything they wanted to know.

No, his father wasn't here. When they told him the truth, he felt devastated and immediately began to withdraw, wanting to just get away from everybody and be left alone. They promised that efforts to find his father would continue, but Ryou doubted it. Bakura was right: they wouldn't really be trying as hard as they could be unless they were forced to.

Yugi and the others had stayed all day until the crisis was resolved, and while Ryou was grateful for their concern, these were also the friends who consistently forgot his birthday, left him behind on every adventure, and mistook Bakura for him. Their forced cheerfulness was nauseating and Ryou had no energy to deal with them right now.

"I just want to go home," he murmured as he stared at the ground while Joey tried to cajole their friend circle into going to the arcade. Only Tristan seemed to realize that Ryou was in no mood to be around people right now.

"Hey bud, what didya say?" Tristan asked, softly placing one hand on Ryou's shoulder as the others continued to discuss what they should do now.

"I just want to go home." Ryou lifted his sad eyes from the ground long enough to glance at Tristan's expression and see that he seemed to understand.

"Hey guys, I'll just take Ryou home first, then I'll meet you at the arcade, okay?" Tristan gently escorted Ryou to the parking lot where his motorcycle was parked. He handed his shorter friend his extra helmet, and once both teens had fastened their protective headwear and the driver knew where he was going, Tristan took off at high speed, Ryou hugging him tightly from behind, his eyes squeezed shut. Watching the blur of lights, faces, buildings, and vehicles they passed made Ryou more nauseous than he already felt.

_When was the last time you ate, Spirit?_

_A couple days ago, maybe yesterday,_ Bakura answered indifferently.

Ryou didn't realize that he was home until Tristan cleared his throat and tapped the top of his helmet. His eyes flew open and he quickly released his friend, removing the helmet and climbing off the bike as he handed the borrowed item back to its own. He mumbled a "sorry" and a "thanks" and turned away, hurrying towards the front door with his head down.

"I'm sorry about your dad, Ryou."

Tristan's soft words called to him just as he lay a hand on the front door. Ryou was frozen for a moment, not really sure what to say. He muttered something polite and unintelligible before entering his home and slamming the door behind him. He leaned back against the door and slid down to the floor as he was overcome with weakness.

"You said it would work," Ryou whispered into the darkness as he closed his eyes again. "You said he would come _home_." He choked up and began to sob, much to Bakura's annoyance.

"Give it time, Yadonushi," the Spirit of the Millennium Ring growled as he appeared in ghostly form, standing before his host with his arms crossed.

"He's _never_ coming home," Ryou whined as he lifted the hem of his shirt to soak up his tears.

"You ungrateful little—" The spirit had started to insult his host yet again, but for some reason stopped short, catching himself with a sigh. He watched Ryou for a while longer as the boy wept. When he gave up on that, he stood shakily and made his way to the bathroom where his stomach tried to empty itself. It was already empty, though, and Ryou's painful heaving was fruitless. After that, he took a look around his house, finally registering its ransacked state. You would have expected the feds to be a bit more respectful with a person's home when they were searching for evidence. Bakura knew that they would take his entire knife collection, but he still seethed in anger at them.

"Where are they?" Ryou asked as a note of desperation entered his voice. He had searched under his bed and in between the couch cushions and inside the kitchen cabinets, but he couldn't find any of the knives he'd allowed to clutter his home for so long.

"Obviously, the police took them," Bakura retorted bitterly. Ryou scratched at the inside of his forearm as he looked around, his gaze settling on the kitchen knives. Those would work. He turned to Bakura then with pleading eyes, the Spirit of the Millennium Ring already knowing what he wanted to ask.

"Fine," was all that the spirit said, prompting Ryou to grab a stainless steel blade and stagger back to the bathroom. He stopped the drain and turned the faucet on at full blast so that the bathtub began to fill with warm water. Ryou pulled an old, stained towel out of the bathroom closet and set it on the closed toilet lid before he locked the door and started to undress. Normally he didn't bother with the door, because he was so used to being the only one here, but after Bakura had mentioned Marik, he didn't want to take the chance that the Egyptian wandered into his home while he was in the bath.

The water was burning hot when he stepped in, knife in hand, but he grit his teeth and bore it, seating himself in the hot water with a gasp. Then he lifted his eyes to the spirit who'd been watching him indifferently all this time.

"Please, Spirit." His voice quavered as he begged the thief for release.

"You're pathetic," Bakura grumbled as he stepped forward and knelt beside the bathtub.

Ryou gathered his white hair onto the top of his head in a small bun, securing it with an elastic before he leaned back against the tub and lifted one leg, letting his foot rest on the faucet. Bakura put his hand over Ryou's and lifted the blade to the skin of his inner thigh. The spirit turned his steely gaze to glare at his host before he dragged the knife across his leg in a smooth, sharp stroke. Ryou gasped as red rivulets flowed down his thigh to mingle with the bathwater. Bakura lifted the knife and made another cut across his hikari's thigh, pausing to lick the knife. Ryou watched as Bakura's lips turned red with his blood.

"You _want_ this."

Bakura's cold voice was filled with scorn.

"You beg me for this time and again, yet each time, you're too much of a coward to even start it yourself."

Another cut and another gasp.

"Everyone thinks that I'm the one who turned you into this."

Another cut, followed by a soft whimper.

"But you would be this way without me. Weak, whiny, weeping."

Slice. The bathwater was starting to turn pink.

"You bathe in your own blood because you're too spineless to ever speak up for yourself. I try to teach you how to be strong, and you complain."

Bakura cut Ryou's inner thigh higher than ever before, and his host flinched.

"You turn yourself into a victim because you prefer to wallow in self pity rather than let yourself be happy about anything."

"You said I _deserved_ this," Ryou whispered faintly as Bakura shoved his bleeding leg into the water and his host lifted the other for him out of habit.

"You deserve it because you've turned yourself into an oversized, masochistic infant."

He licked the knife clean before dragging the sharpened steel down the outside of Ryou's other thigh. Ryou was still the one holding the knife as Bakura manipulated his limp wrist.

"You enjoy the sight of your own blood, and I'm ashamed to call you my host." Let alone his reincarnation, but Bakura didn't say that aloud. Ryou didn't need to know that.

"You enjoy cutting me as much as I enjoy being cut," Ryou answered in a soft, strangled voice, his eyelids low. He cried out as Bakura cut him hard and deep, angered by his words.

"I don't care what you do to yourself so long as you live for as long as I need you," Bakura growled, leaning down low over his frail host's tear-stained face. "But remember this: Continue on this path and one day, you'll be completely alone, not even I will be around to watch your ruin your insignificant little life. When I'm gone, you'll have nobody else to blame for your misery and your scars and your tears. Then you'll truly know what it's like to feel broken."

"Spirit," Ryou gasped out, and Bakura thought that his host's sensitive heart had been shredded anew and that he was about to cry again.

But no, that wasn't the problem. Ryou's face was paler than usual, and his hand was pressed over the newest cut on his thigh. It was bleeding more than the others, and as Bakura glanced down to watch his blood darken the water, he sighed in understanding. He dipped the blade in the water before setting it on the floor.

"Sit up," he ordered sharply, and as Ryou's shaking hands scrabbled against the tub to pull himself into a sitting position, Bakura reached into the storage space under the bathroom sink and pulled out a square of gauze, handing it to his host so that he could staunch the bleeding. Bakura just watched Ryou for a while after that, speaking once to remind him not to pass out, but remaining otherwise silent.

Finally, Ryou stood on wobbly legs and reached for his towel, wrapping it around himself before stepping out of the tub and getting the rest of his first aid kit. Bakura was done helping him for the evening. It took copious energy and focus to make his incorporeal form interact with physical objects, and he wasn't willing to spend anymore of his resources tonight. Not if he was to meet Marik in his soul room later.

Ryou didn't look at the thief as he bandaged his thigh, dried himself off, then limped to his bedroom. He donned some oversized sleepclothes and buried himself in the wrinkled sheets of his bed.

"Is it really so wrong that I want to be loved?" he murmured, his eyes seeking Bakura's translucent form. The ancient thief scoffed at him.

"If you wish to be loved, then be someone worth loving." He looked down at Ryou in disgust. "Would _you_ want to love someone like you, Yadonushi?"

His host shrank against the mattress, hiding behind his comforter as he shielded himself from Bakura's fierce disapproval.


	5. Echo

**"Listen, listen,  
** **I would take a whisper if that's all you had to give.  
** **But it isn't, is it?  
** **You could come and save me and try to chase the crazy right out of my head.  
** **I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name  
** **like a fool at the top of my lungs.  
** **Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright,  
** **but it's never enough  
** **cause my echo, echo  
** **is the only voice coming back.  
** **Shadow, shadow  
** **is the only friend that I have."**

**~ _Echo_ by Jason Walker**

* * *

Ryou didn't leave his house after Tristan dropped him off. He stayed there for days with his landline off the hook and his cellphone turned off. No doubt, Yugi and his friends were trying to get a hold of him, but he wasn't in the mood to speak with any of them. He wasted the days away on his couch in sweats and a baggy t-shirt, watching Netflix nearly nonstop. Bakura's presence in his mind came and went intermittently, but Ryou didn't ask any questions. He knew Bakura hated it when Ryou tried asking him personal questions. The weekend came and went, and Ryou still didn't leave his domain. He hadn't been suspended or expelled from school—not since he'd been dubbed a victim—but he still didn't think he could show his face there again. He was convinced that everyone but his friends hated him, even the teachers. Yet, everyone, including his friends, feared him.

Little did he know that Kaiba had continued searching doggedly for Ryou's father—more out of boredom than compassion, but it didn't change the results.

On Tuesday, around noon, Ryou heard a knock on the front door. He didn't move off the couch, assuming it to be the postman. But when the knock was repeated a few more times, Ryou dragged himself off the couch and to the door. He unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door a crack, expecting—hoping, really, but not truly expecting—to see Joey playing truant as he tried to pull his friend out of his gloomy domicile. It wasn't Joey at his door, though.

"Dad?" he whispered as the door fell open further, his voice hoarse from not being used. His eyes grew round as his father stood there, nervously shifting his weight between his feet, not quite able to look his son in the eye. It didn't seem to bother Ryou, though, who threw himself at his father and embraced him tightly. After so long, he finally saw him again. It had been far too long.

"Hello, Ryou." He spoke uncertainly and his hands lightly rested on his son's back.

"I never thought I'd see you again. I thought you didn't care about me anymore." Ryou choked up as his eyes watered, and he tried desperately not to cry. All these years, he'd told himself that if his father just came home, then somehow, everything would be alright.

"How are you?" Mr. Bakura gently guided his son inside and closed the front door. "I haven't heard from you in over a week. I was worried." Ryou released his father suddenly, jerking back to stare at him.

"You _got_ all those messages?" he asked in shock. "If you got my messages, then how come you never…" Ryou could feel his fragile happiness start to shatter in his hands. For just a few moments, everything had been alright. For just a few moments, he'd remembered what it felt like to smile. Surely he deserved more than a mere minute of happiness? Surely he should have gotten more… Was fate really so cruel?

"We need to talk," was all his father said as he placed a single hand on his son's shoulder and guided the stricken teen to the couch. They sat down, and Ryou could feel that his mouth had gone dry. They sat in silence for several moments, neither of them knowing quite what to say.

"After your mother and sister died," the elder Bakura began slowly, making Ryou drop his gaze to his hands. "It was hard for me to move on. Everything reminded me of her, especially you."

Ryou winced and wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to cry. He could tell by his father's tone that this wasn't the end of his story.

"I tried to focus on you and making your life better. I thought I could help you move past your grief by making you forget. I tried to make you forget by spoiling you a bit." He hesitated. "I gave you presents from my trips, hoping they could distract you. I gave you that." He pointed to the Millennium Ring, which hung on a string around Ryou's neck like always. "It wasn't long after that I realized I'd made a terrible mistake."

"What do you mean?" He wanted to know, but he was afraid of the answer all the same.

"A few days after I first gave it to you, I saw _him_."

Ryou couldn't breathe. He stared down at the Millennium Ring and lifted a hand to press it against his chest, wanting to feel the reassuring weight of it. It was in that moment that he felt Bakura become aware in Ryou's mind, emerging from his soul room to observe this miserable reunion firsthand.

"I couldn't stand to watch my son be possessed by an evil spirit that I gave him."

Mr. Bakura sounded truly regretful, but Ryou took no comfort in that. He was already starting to hate the man he'd loved from afar for six years.

"I couldn't bear to live always looking over my shoulder out of fear like that. Shadi told me that it was your fate to have the Ring, that there was nothing I could do to stop him, so I left. I always intended to come back when he was gone…" His voice trailed off, as if even he realized that he'd been in the wrong.

There were so many things Ryou wanted to say in that instant. He wanted to scream at his father for letting his son struggle and suffer all alone for so long. He wanted to call him a terrible father and say that he never wanted to see him again. He wanted to curse him up and down. He wanted to tell him just exactly what kind of hell he'd left his son to live through while he was gone.

_Do it, Yadonushi. For once in your life, defend yourself instead of counting on someone else._

"I always thought," Ryou whispered, staring down at the Millennium Ring as it started to feel warm in his hand. "That if you came home, it would somehow make everything better. I always thought that if you came home, it would feel like I had a family again." He couldn't stop the tears that fell from his eyes and painted his cheeks.

_Good start, Yadonushi, but that's not really what you want to tell him. Go ahead, scream and yell. Throw a tantrum. Make yourself heard. Make him feel guilty._

"I cut." The words came out angry and sharp as Ryou suddenly released himself and held out his arms with his scarred wrists upturned, his gaze still down. "I cut because I'm alone and people pick on me. Because I don't have anyone to turn to for help."

 _Scream at him, Yadonushi!_ Bakura urged in the back of his mind, making it hard for Ryou to maintain any kind of focus.

"I cut because have to pay the bills all on my own, and I'm depressed, and I hate my jobs. I cut because there's a voice in my head that I can't get rid of and my father's too much of a coward to stick around!" He crossed his arms, not wanting to share his scars anymore. His vision blurred with tears as he stared down into his lap, he pursed his lips as he tried to get a hold of himself.

"Ryou—" His father tried to reach out to him, sounding sad and regretful, but Ryou pulled away from him.

"I don't want to see you ever again," the teenager whispered as he closed his eyes. His father sighed and stood.

"I'm sorry. When he's gone, or if you ever want me to come back—"

"I'll call," Ryou finished bitterly. _Not that it did me much good in the past,_ he thought to himself. "Don't count on my calling anytime soon, though."

Mr. Bakura left then, closing the door with a dull thud. Ryou should have gotten up and locked it, but he didn't care at the moment. He didn't care about anything in those moments as he wrapped himself up in a warm blanket and cocooned himself on the couch, sobbing into a throw pillow.

_That, Yadonushi, is what it feels like to stand up for yourself._

"It hurts, Bakura," Ryou choked out through his tears. "It hurts… _Please_ , make it stop," he begged, only to receive a sharp reprimand.

 _No, Landlord. I'm done enabling your petty, selfish behavior._ He could feel Bakura's unveiled disdain.

"Make it stop," he pleaded through his tears, clutching the blanket to himself with his small, ineffectual fists. When he didn't receive an answer, he realized that Bakura had left him again, closing off his mind to go do gods-knew-what in his soul room. Ryou bawled shamelessly after that, losing even his interest in Netflix. He didn't leave the couch, trying to prove to Bakura that he was strong enough not to cut himself again, no matter how much he wanted to.

* * *

By Tuesday, none of Yugi's friends, nor Yugi himself, had heard anything from Ryou. They couldn't get in touch by text, call, email, IM, or anything. Tristan volunteered to visit him after school and make sure that he was alright. After going a whole week without hearing from him, he'd shown up at school with a bomb. They didn't want to risk repeating that experience.

"Anybody home?" Tristan called as he knocked on Ryou's front door for the fourth time. Finally, he decided to try the handle. It was unlocked. He tentatively opened the door and poked his head in. "Hello? Ryou?"

"Tristan?"

The answering call was soft and sad, and the brunette stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him as he tried to find Ryou in the darkness.

"What are you doing here?" Ryou asked as he sat up on the couch, his rumpled white hair standing out in the dim living room and alerting Tristan to where his friend was located.

"We were worried about you. I wanted to see how you were doing," he answered as he stepped forward. Ryou rubbed his eyes and looked down at his hands. He seemed dull, listless. He was inside his own home, and even though Tristan was there, he didn't have any interest in hiding the truth anymore. Tristan looked uncomfortable for a few moments before he cleared his throat and tried again.

"How are you doing?"

"Awful." Ryou crossed his arms and leaned back against the couch cushion as he glared at the floor.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Tristan moved to sit on the edge of the coffee table, forcing Ryou to face him. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Ryou glanced up at his friend, his glare fading into despair. Earnest concern filled Tristan's face, and Ryou could tell that he genuinely cared about trying to make him feel better.

"I don't know," he answered with a small shrug. He didn't think that anything could make him feel better, so he didn't know what else to say.

"Have you heard anything about your father?"

Ryou winced, and nodded slightly. "He was here a few hours ago. He only stayed a few minutes before he left again."

Tristan was flabbergasted by this. "After all that, he just up and _left_?" he exclaimed, making Ryou feel a bit better just by expressing anger on his behalf. "Want me to kick his ass for you?"

His offer surprised a shaky laugh out of his friend. "Now you sound like Joey. I think he's rubbing off on you."

"Well, as long as his intellect—or lack thereof—doesn't rub off on me, I think I'm fine with that."

Ryou laughed again, his burdens feeling just a bit lighter than before. "As long as you use words like 'thereof' I think we can be confident that's not happening."

"Are you cold?" Tristan asked, gesturing to the fuzzy blanket pooled around Ryou's lower half. "Or tired?"

"I'm always tired," Ryou answered with a sigh.

"How about hungry? Are you hungry?" Tristan asked eagerly. "Because I know I am."

"Sure, I could eat," Ryou answered softly, pink touching his cheeks.

"How about we order a pizza, then?"

"Sounds good."

Tristan stood from the coffee table and walked away a bit as he pulled out his cellphone and called the nearest pizza place. Ryou pulled his blanket up around his shoulders as he snuggled into the cushions and closed his eyes briefly. He _was_ tired, after all.

"Why did your dad leave again?" Tristan's question caught him by surprise, making him open his eyes just in time to see the brunette seat himself next to his shorter friend. Ryou swallowed hard.

"I really don't want to talk about it," he muttered looking away.

"Okay then, we won't talk about it," Tristan replied with ease, seeming unconcerned by Ryou's reticence. He _was_ concerned about it, but he just didn't want to upset Ryou right now, not when he'd gotten the quiet, shy Brit to smile. He liked seeing Ryou smile, and something inside of him was already trying to think of ways to make that rare smile reappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that happened. O_O I initially wanted to end this fic with pure fluff, but then it got really dark all on its own. I guess that's what happens when I don't get reviews: I torture my characters. So review, or I'm going after Joey next! Muhahaha!
> 
> …
> 
> Now I'm tempted to write a Buddyshipping one-shot with an angsty Joey. *heavy sigh* And I told myself I'd never write Buddyshipping. Just like I thought I'd never write Puppyshipping or Tendershipping… *double facepalm*


	6. Dream On

**"Sing with me, sing for the years**  
**Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears**  
**Sing with me, just for today**  
**Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away."**

**~ _Dream On_ by Aerosmith**

* * *

Ryou sucked hard as Tristan climaxed. He closed his eyes as his mouth worked around the other's member, licking, sucking, swallowing. Tristan's hands, which had been tugging on Ryou's hair, loosed their hold and started stroking the slighter teen's scalp and hair, soothing any ache he'd caused.

Tristan's eyes were still starry and aimed at the ceiling when Ryou carefully pulled back and released the brunette's flaccid manhood. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and started to stand, moving away from the bed, but Tristan grabbed his wrist and stopped him. Ryou looked back at his boyfriend, brown eyes wide with anxiety as hazel eyes narrowed with determination.

"Let me return the favor," Tristan said as firmly as he could manage under the circumstances. "Please, Ryou."

"It's not necessary," Ryou answered breathily. He _was_ aroused, but he would take care of it himself like he had in the past. Ryou had given Tristan a few blowjobs by now, in addition to their several make-out sessions. Whenever Tristan expressed interest in repaying him, Ryou always managed to get him side-tracked. Tristan perceived Ryou to be shy (which wasn't inaccurate), so he tried to be patient and accepting. He didn't want to demand from Ryou anything he wasn't willing to give, but he hated feeling like he wasn't giving back in the relationship.

"Ryou..." Tristan wanted to say that he could be trusted, that he wouldn't make fun of anything Ryou was self-conscious about. "If we turned the lights off, would you let me?"

Ryou anxiously bit his lip. He wasn't afraid of the intimacy itself; he was afraid of Tristan seeing his scars. He was afraid of what Tristan would think of him if he knew that he used to cut. Tristan gently pulled Ryou closer and kissed him, lips soft and patient.

"Please, Ryou? I just want to make you happy," he whispered against his lover's lips.

"Just... let me get the lights first." Ryou darted away to close the blinds and turn off the lights. The door was already closed and locked, even though they were the only ones in Ryou's house. Ryou was paranoid after the time when he and Tristan had been making out on the couch and Joey had walked in on them, almost catching them red-handed.

Standing beside the bed, he started stripping away his clothes, but Tristan found his hands in the dark and stopped him.

"Let me," he urged, and Ryou complied. Tristan was already naked, and Ryou was fully clothed, and the brunette simply wished for an even playing field.

The song was still playing on repeat as Ryou finally got naked with his boyfriend. When Tristan's roaming hands made him nervous, he tugged Tristan onto the bed with him, not wanting Tristan to notice something he shouldn't.

Tristan felt nervous, since this was his first time servicing his first boyfriend—it wasn't his first relationship, just his first relationship with another guy—but his nerves had been overcome by his desire for equality. That didn't mean that he felt like he knew what he was doing, though. Ryou lowered himself onto his back on the bed, and Tristan placed his hands on either side of his lover's pale body, which was visible even in the darkness. He bent down and kissed the center of Ryou's stomach, his lips tender against the soft flesh and drawing out a faint gasp from the other. Tristan slowly kissed his way down Ryou's stomach until he encountered something else. He shifted so that he could kneel between the other's legs even as Ryou opened his legs for him, making room for Tristan to get comfortable to do what he wanted to do.

The brunette tried to recall how Ryou had administered his attentions and did his best to imitate those slow, sensuous movements and was gratified by the way Ryou arched and moaned and called his name, his hands grabbing for Tristan's shoulders, his hair, the sheets. As Ryou hit his climax, Tristan wished that he could have seen the flush of that lovely porcelain skin, the sprawl of that snowy hair across the pillow, the sheen of telltale sweat on his forehead. But since Ryou would only do this with him in the dark, for now, he would take what he could get.

Ryou was limp and panting when he was finished, and Tristan was gentle in unwrapping Ryou's legs from his body. He crawled up the length of the bed and pulled the sheets up around them both, putting an arm across Ryou's waist as he slipped his other arm under the pillow.

"How was that?" the brunette asked softly.

"Amazing." Ryou curled onto his side and blindly bumped his nose into Tristan's cheek. "Thank you."

* * *

Next morning, Ryou was still asleep when Tristan woke up to stripes of light streaming through the blinds. Tristan looked at Ryou's peaceful face, and felt mischievous. He slid down the bed and nudged Ryou onto his back, sliding in between his legs.

"Ryou~" he called softly, then kissed his navel softly. "Ryou, it's time to wake up."

"Hm..." Ryou's eyes cracked open a little, still half asleep. He gasped as a warm, wet mouth enveloped his smooth tip. Tristan became more ardent in his attentions, and Ryou moaned in gratitude, at one point actually bucking upwards as need saturated every ounce of his being, and he lost himself to the pleasure.

Tristan licked him clean, then started kissing Ryou's thighs. That's when he noticed the scars for the first time.

"Ryou, what are these?" he asked softly, and panic pierced the fog in Ryou's mind.

"Tristan, I need to shower," he breathed out, voice shaking, and tried to crawl away from him, but Tristan held Ryou down by his hips. Ryou's hands started shaking as Tristan moved the blanket off of his head and looked into his lover's terrified eyes.

"Where did these come from?" he asked seriously, his fingers tracing over the scars of Ryou's thighs. The Brit bit his lip, and in an attempt to hide his marred skin, he reached for the blanket again. Tristan grabbed his hand, though, and held it up to inspect his wrists too. Then his eyes fell on Ryou's again, and he could see the tears just waiting to fall.

"Please, don't." The white-haired teen's plea was a mere whisper, a shaky breath that begged not to be pressured. They stared at each other for several long moments, Ryou desperately hoping that he could leave his desperate past behind him.

"Tell me." It was a demand, an order, and it was one that Ryou just couldn't obey.

"I can't." Tears finally wet Ryou's cheeks. "I'm sorry, Tristan, I just can't." He pulled away from Tristan and stumbled off the bed, running into the hall bathroom, slamming the door shut, and locking it firmly.

Tristan sighed heavily, feeling like he'd messed up. What was he supposed to do now?


	7. Safe and Sound

**"Just close your eyes,**   
**the sun is going down.**   
**You'll be alright,**   
**no one can hurt you now.**   
**Come morning light,**   
**you and I'll be safe and sound."**

**~ _Safe and Sound_ by The Civil Wars ft. Taylor Swift**

* * *

"Ryou, please let me in." Tristan let his forehead rest on the door-frame, frustrated with Ryou for not telling him sooner, frustrated with himself for scaring Ryou away. He was tired of knocking, and with the shower water running, there was no way he could hear him.

Tristan reached up to the top of the door frame and removed the simple metal key. He pushed it into the round hole in the center of the doorknob and heard the _click_ as it unlocked. He put the key back in its place before opening the door and stepping inside the steamy room.

"Ryou, we need to talk."

No response.

"If you don't talk to me, I'm going to join you in there."

A pale hand snatched the edge of the shower curtain and held it firmly against the wall of the shower, keeping it closed so that Tristan couldn't even peek inside the hot shower where Ryou was wet and shivering. He had his other hand braced against the shower wall as he leaned forward, the water hitting his back as he blocked his boyfriend from joining him.

"Come on, man, just talk to me." Tristan stepped closer to the shower and leaned back against the wall, frustrated with everything right now.

"What do you want me to say?" Ryou's voice was quiet, and Tristan could barely hear him.

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"The truth about what?" Ryou snapped, his harsh tone making Tristan start. He'd never heard Ryou sound that angry before. "What can I say that you haven't already figured out for yourself? I used to cut, okay? Is that so awful?"

"Yes—no—I mean—" Tristan spluttered, then sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. "I didn't know."

"Nobody did." Ryou didn't sound angry anymore, but he sounded sad, and considering this revelation, Tristan thought that was worse.

"You don't... Not anymore, though, right?" Tristan wasn't sure how to ask such a thing. He toed the bathmat anxiously, sliding it a little so that its edge lined up with the tiles.

"No, not in a while."

"How long is a while?"

Ryou sighed. His answer sounded like it was supposed to be angry, but there wasn't enough force behind the words to create the desired effect: "I haven't cut since before we started dating."

That made Tristan feel marginally better. He felt like he should say more, ask more, _do_ more now that he knew, but he couldn't think very clearly right now. He'd never been in this kind of situation before, and he felt unsure of himself. After a couple minutes spent in relative silence, something finally occurred to him.

"Is that why you didn't want me to... you know." He blushed a little. "Because you didn't want me to see the scars?"

"Yeah." Ryou's answer was still barely audible, and Tristan could see that his grip on the shower curtain had loosened. "I... I didn't want you to think any less of me. I didn't want you to be mad at me."

"I'm not mad." Tristan would be the first one to admit that he had a short temper, but Ryou really hadn't done anything that deserved real anger. He was irked that Ryou had kept it secret for so long, but he wasn't _mad_.

"I didn't know _how_ you'd react."

"Is that why you didn't tell me?"

"Yeah, that too."

"That too?"

"I was _scared_ , okay?" Ryou wasn't just snapping at him now, but he was yelling too. "I was _scared_ of what you'd think of me, _scared_ that you'd be mad at me, _scared_ that you'd leave me, _scared_ of people looking at me and thinking—" Ryou stopped short, his breathing shallow and rapid as his eyes filled with tears again. He didn't know what he was afraid of people thinking about him. He just knew that he was afraid of everything. "Nobody would understand," he murmured, and Tristan had to lean in close to the shower curtain so that he could hear him. "People like Yugi and Tea and Duke... They don't know what it's like to hurt so much that all you want to do is scream. They don't know what it's like to hurt so much that some days, you wish you were dead. They don't know what it's like to forget how to smile, to feel like a waste of space, to want to cry all the _damn_ time, and then hating yourself for it. If I tried to tell them how awful I feel, they wouldn't be able to understand..."

Just talking about it was so deeply upsetting for Ryou that he couldn't keep himself from crying. His version blurred with tears, so when Tristan gently tugged aside the curtain, easily freeing it from his loosened hold, and cupped his cheek with a large, warm hand. As Ryou straightened up, blinking rapidly, Tristan dropped his hand and stepped inside the shower and pulled the curtain closed behind him. Ryou hesitated, as if about to pull away, but Tristan's arms were strong as they encircled Ryou and forced him close. Ryou's cheek pressed against Tristan's firm chest as he buried himself in his lover's embrace.

Tristan had never pretended to be smart or good with words. He was a good guy to have on your side in a fight, and he was a terrible liar. He wasn't great at Duel Monsters, but he was a decent cook. He could be stubborn, but he was also stubbornly loyal. He was a good friend, or at least he tried to be, and if he messed up, he always tried to make things right.

Tristan didn't pretend like he knew what Ryou needed or what he was feeling, but he did know how to be a friend to him—and more. Ryou cried a little, his shoulders shaking and his breaths coming in gasps and shudders. Tristan hugged him tightly as they stood together under the artificial rain of hot water.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Ryou finally whispered, his eyes and cheeks red as he stared into Tristan's darker skin.

"Okay, then I won't ask about it." Tristan pressed a kiss to Ryou's temple, trying to stay focused on their conversation. It was hard, though, when their bare bodies were pressed close in a steamy shower. He rubbed Ryou's back with his thumbs, his boyfriend's body cool compared to the water.

"You make me happy," Ryou whispered, finally lifting his gaze to meet Tristan's. "I didn't want to spoil that happiness with the past. I just want to focus on the present, on what we have between us."

"Hmmm..." Tristan bumped his nose into Ryou's cheek, eliciting a small giggle from the Brit's throat. Tristan stole a kiss from him, having decided that only paying attention to the here and now was a _very_ good idea. Because, after all, they were still a pair of horny teenage boys.

But they weren't just horny; they were in love. Now that old grievances had been aired out, they could grow closer, both emotionally and sexually.

The tall brunette had already been half hard when he kissed Ryou, and as far as he could tell, Ryou had been in a similar state. Tristan needed to stoop down to kiss him, though, and he couldn't keep it up very long without his neck starting to get sore. Ryou's back was slick with flowing water, and both of Tristan's hands slid down to cup his ass. Ryou squeaked with surprise.

"Put your arms around my neck," Tristan instructed, and Ryou obeyed. "Jump on three," Tristan murmured.

"What?"

"One, two, three." On three, Ryou gave a little hop as Tristan lifted Ryou up, the Brit putting his legs around his waist and his arms around his shoulders. Now their hips were aligned, and Tristan tentatively rocked against him. This was an experiment for both of them, and he was trying to make it work. One of Ryou's hands snaked down between them and squeezed their members together.

The brunette grunted as the Brit whined, and Tristan turned to the side to press Ryou's back against the wall of the shower. Brown eyes met hazel, both of their faces flushed deep shades of scarlet as their hips rocked together again. Tristan's fingernails dug into Ryou's skin as he grunted again, the sound lost beneath the volume of Ryou's moan.

Ryou closed his eyes, too embarrassed to keep them open, and turned his face away. Tristan pressed himself more firmly into Ryou to support him and removed one hand from Ryou's rear to grab his chin and turn his head.

"Please look at me, babe."

Flustered and touched by the first-time use of that particular endearment, Ryou opened his eyes. Tristan kissed him and held Ryou firmly with both hands once more as he rocked against him again. This time, they found a slow rhythm that they could enjoy without risk of losing their grip.

Hands latched onto Tristan's shoulders, legs climbing higher up his sides, mouth gaping as he gasped for air, Ryou felt more than mere pleasure. He felt immensely relieved, blissfully happy, and, most surprisingly, he felt _safe_.

Ryou couldn't remember the last time he'd felt safe or the last time he'd felt so loved.


End file.
